Page 10 of An Irish Kiss
The church organist grinned.“Ah, I can understand why a young thing like yourself might be interested in checking on a man like him.It’s not every day we see such a fine looker as he in our village.”
“Mrs.McGuigan.”Her cheeks roared back to fire.“Please, keep your voice down.”
But it was too late.For beyond the church organist’s shoulder she could see Aidan had reappeared, his own embarrassment gone as he half-smiled at her, sending butterflies within.
* * *
Funnyhow in the space of two minutes he could go from feeling like a fool to feeling like a prince.His earlier comment about her musical-sounding laughter had sent him scuttling to hide, or at least to do what he’d come in here for and find that book on local history he’d seen back at the castle.He’d soon found that, then another one that looked equally compelling, and had approached the desk to check the pricing as the first book’s price was missing when he’d overheard the grey-haired lady’s comments.
And no, he hadn’t come here to meet a girl, but there was something intriguing about the flame-haired Aurora.He sensed her earlier hostility was gone—maybe she simply had been embarrassed by him—and now she seemed far more open, willing to engage, smiling at him, laughing with him.
Except now she seemed to have reverted back to embarrassment, judging from the colour in her cheeks.So he nodded and shifted down the next aisle.Kids’ books.Yeah, so not his scene.His sister’s kids might appreciate a present though…
He bent to examine them more closely, and soon was smiling at the illustrations of Irish fairy-tales.Was this something little Keira would enjoy?She was supposed to be quite advanced for her age, or so his sister always boasted.Or was that something all parents said?
“Are you happy browsing, sir?”
He glanced up, then straightened as another elderly woman smiled at him.But this one wore a name tag labelled “Mary” so she must work here.“I’m just looking, thanks.”
“Well, if there’s something we can help you with, please let us know.Rory knows her books, for sure and for certain.”
He tested the name.“Rory.”Now that seemed far more fitting for the woman who sometimes had appeared to snarl and growl.But more than temper, she obviously possessed zest and a crackling sense of energy his own spirits responded to.Most of the women he’d come across in his work were either victims or so career-focused they were almost robotic in their focus.
He grew aware the older woman was still looking at him, no doubt waiting for him to say something more.But he didn’t want to admit to how much the redhead was playing on his mind, so simply nodded.“Okay, thanks.”
Her head tilted.“Is that an Australian accent I hear?”
“Yep.I’m from western Sydney, in New South Wales.”
She nodded.“I have a nephew who moved to the Southern Highlands several years ago.Connor married an Aussie and they live there.It’s very hard on his mother, my sister, especially now they have grandchildren.”
“The distance is a challenge, I bet.”
“They try to come back each year, but it’s not the same as watching them grow up nearby.”She sighed.“But I shouldn’t complain.People can’t help who they fall in love with, now can they?”
He offered a small smile, but said nothing more.In his experience he’d met plenty of people who might have fallen in love but hadn’t practiced real love during hard times.Hence his work with domestic abuse victims.
“I’ll leave you to it.Don’t forget to ask if there’s something we can help you with.”
“Thank you.”
He picked up the glittery cover children’s book.Hmm, he might wait to talk to the younger member of staff before deciding to get it or not.He studied a few other volumes, when he became aware of an approaching figure.
“Hello.”
He glanced across.His chest thudded.If her voice hadn’t already made his heart skip then that tentative smile definitely would have.“Hi.”
“I know Mary was here not so long ago, but at the risk of seeming like we’re overly helpful or desperate to sell books, is there anything I can help you with?”
He smiled.Tapped the book cover.“Yes.”
Her eyebrows shot up.“There is?”
“Do you think this book”—he held up the volume on Irish fairy-tales with the glittery cover—“would be appropriate for a five-year-old girl?”
Her eyes slammed into his.“Your daughter?”
Come on.Did he really look old enough to have a kid?“My niece.”
